


Married Life

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 18:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13723986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jackson and April get drunk on sangria and live married life to the fullest.





	Married Life

When April walked in the front door that evening, she knew Jackson was home because she could hear him.

Her husband was many things, but quiet was not one of them. He was handsome, brilliant, compassionate and protective, but she always heard him before seeing him. And in that moment, she heard pots and pans clattering like he was on a mission to empty every cupboard. 

“What in the world are you doing?” she asked, coming around the corner with a smile in her eyes. 

Jackson popped up from where he’d been kneeling on the ground and returned the grin. “Oh,” he said. “Hey, babe. You’re home.” 

“And you’re loud,” she said, crossing the room to fold herself into his arms. She tipped her chin up and he gave her a habitual kiss; casual, but something he’d never tire of. 

They hadn’t been married long, only about a month or so. They were in the process of getting used to the other as a romantic partner, but still in the honeymoon stage. It was a beautiful, confusing, sexual, fumbling stage that they were figuring out together. 

“What’re you up to?” she asked again, touching his chin with both pointer fingers. He’d just shaved today, but kept a thin beard. The way she liked him best.

“I’m trying to make sangria,” he said, using two hands to push her hair behind her shoulders. It was curled today - loose curls that wove and spun down her back and framed her delicate face. 

“Sangria?” she asked, trying out the foreign word. “What’s that?” 

“Babe,” he said, flatly, and unwound their bodies to go back to work on his task. 

“What?” she said, defensively. “I never drank in college.”

“Do I have to teach you everything?” he asked, playfully.

“Everything…” she trailed off. “Except for that thing I taught  _ you _ about where to-”

“I get it,” he laughs. “Sangria is a Spanish drink. It’s red wine mixed with lemonade, fruit, and spices.” 

“So fancy,” she says, putting on airs. “I wasn’t aware we were dining at the country club tonight.” 

He hip-checked her and rolled his eyes lightly. “Maybe I should make you some moonshine instead,” he quipped. “Then, it’ll be like you’re home in Moline.” 

“Low blow!” she giggled, leaning forward on the counter with her chin in her hands. 

He shot her an amused, sidelong glance and eventually found the pitcher he’d been relentlessly searching for. He put it on the counter and poured in all the necessary ingredients while April watched, both amused and interested. 

After the chopped-up fruit had been sitting in the alcohol mixture for quite some time, she dipped a hand in and stole an orange slice, popping it into her mouth with satisfaction.

“Careful, babe,” Jackson said, only half paying attention while he cleaned up the mess he’d made. “Those are potent."

She chewed thoughtfully, and a bit of the juice dribbled onto her lower lip. “Hmmmm…” she contemplated. “Potent, schmotent.” 

He scoffed and nodded to himself, entertained. “Okay...” he muttered.

She kept eating the fruit from the pitcher, and as the minutes ticked by she became unsteady on her feet. Jackson took one look and knew she was drunk, having underestimated the amount of strong alcohol the fruit had absorbed. Her movements were clumsier, mouth looser, and hands grabbier. 

“You’re so handsome,” April slurred, stutter-stepping over to her husband. “Where’s your tie, baby? You know I love that tie on you.” 

“I took it off when I got home,” he said with a smile.

She ran her hands down his chest - tiny, lithe fingers covering as much area as they could.

“Go put it back on for me,” she said, mischievous. 

“You’re so drunk,” he said, eyebrows up. “What’d I tell you about that fruit?” 

“And I didn’t  _ listen _ ,” she said emphatically, dropping a hand to her forehead. “There’s only one solution. One, two, three, four…  _ one _ solution.” 

“Mm-hmm,” he said, smirking in her direction. “What’s that?” 

“Catch up,” she said. “I don’t wanna be wasted alone, it’s no fun.”

He couldn’t resist her pout, and knew very well they both had the day off tomorrow. There was nothing to lose, and a fun night with his drunk wife to gain. 

“Alright,” he said. “But put the pitcher down, you’re gonna spill everywhere.” 

“So bossy,” she said, touching her lower lip with her pointer finger. “I like it.” 

Jackson poured himself a generous glass of the homemade alcohol and didn’t bother spending time enjoying how it tasted. Instead, he drank fast and felt it go straight to his head, assisted by the two glasses that followed. 

When he was tipsy, he plucked a pineapple from the pitcher and April opened her mouth. He placed the fruit on her tongue and her lips curled around his fingers, chuckling darkly as it happened.

“You’re so bad,” he said, shaking his head. 

She chewed the citrusy fruit and puckered her lips, blinking heavily, drunkenly. “Feels good,” she said. “Tastes good.” 

“Your face is pink,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m hot,” she said, then crossed her arms at her torso and fluidly pulled her blouse over her head. That action left her dressed only in a cream-colored bra that dipped low between her breasts, perfectly showcasing the smattering of freckles across her cleavage. 

“Alright,” Jackson said, eyeing her.

“Still hot,” she said, and tapped her chin before shrugging and unclasping her bra in one swift motion. 

Suddenly, April was completely topless in the kitchen. Her nipples were flushed pink and erect, standing up and obscenely tempting Jackson as he stood across from her.

“Jesus, you’re hot,” he said, not trying to hide his stare. 

“I know,” she said, intertwining her fingers behind her back to stretch her spine. “That’s why I took off my shirt.” 

“No…” he said, slurring a bit. “Hot the other way.” 

She giggled, crossed her arms and skimmed her hands over her shoulders before stepping out of her pants. Now, all she wore was a gray-and-pink pair of hipster underwear that were tight enough for her ass to hang out of when she turned around. 

“I’m hungry,” she says, sliding past him and dodging his roaming hands. 

“Can you get your little ass…” Jackson trails off, grabbing at her while she opens the fridge. 

“Bad,” she scolds, batting away his hands. “What do we have in here, anyway? Did you go shopping?”

“Did you?”

“I haven’t had time,” she said. “I’ve been too busy trying to dodge you and your wild penis at the hospital, naughty boy.”

“Wild penis?” he exclaimed, guffawing. “That’s a new one. I like that.” 

“Did  _ you  _ go shopping?” she countered. 

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said. “I could get groceries delivered, that would be good.” 

“You’re so…” she sang, hand spinning as she tried to pin down the word. “So…” 

“Logical,” he said with a firm nod of his head. “Tactical. Smart.” 

“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” she said. “I was gonna say… spoiled.” 

He pretended to be shocked, jaw dropping. “You are so damn mean to your husband,” he said, trying to hide his smile at her eye-roll as she turned back towards the fridge. He placed his hands on her bare waist and sunk his fingertips into her supple skin, pulling her ass back towards his crotch. 

“Stop, baby,” she whined. “I’m hungry. And I found…” she gasped. “Cookie dough. Oh, my god. I’m so making these.”

“You’re  _ so _ making these,” he repeated, swiping her hair to the side to drop kisses on her neck. He wound his arms around her front to tightly grip both her breasts, which earned him a soft moan and the relaxation of her spine against him. 

“You’re handsy,” she said. 

“When you have them out like this… how do you expect me not to be?” 

He made a gentle path of bite-marks from the curve of her neck to the round of her shoulder, and she opened the tube of cookie dough while he did. She took a bite right out of the log and chewed slowly, then lifted it over her shoulder as an offer. He took her up on it and bit off a generous chunk, chewing as his thumbs rubbed slow, confident circles over her nipples. 

“Oh my god, Jackson,” she moaned. “So good.” 

“Mm, yeah,” he said, lips close to her ear. “You like that, baby? I do, too. Your tits are so-” 

“No,” she said, gently bopping him on the head with the cookie dough. “This. Cookie dough. Cookie dough is so good.” 

He groaned and cupped the undersides of her breasts, thumbnails tracing her areolas. “You’re telling me you don’t like this at all…” he sang. “Not one bit?” 

She kept eating and shook her head obstinately. “You know what would go good with this?” she said, gasping with excitement before turning around. 

He took advantage of her new position and slipped his hands lower, going for her ass. Once he got there, he took two firm handfuls and squeezed, fingertips digging into her cheeks.

“What?” 

“Sangria,” she whispered, theatrically. 

“Ooh, I think we have some,” he replied, eyebrows wiggling as he smacked her behind. 

“Ouchie,” she giggled, and spun out of his arms to pour them each a fresh glass. 

They drank it slow this time, eyes on each other while the liquid drained from the cups. Once they were finished and the entire pitcher was gone, so was the log of cookie dough. 

“Hey…” April said, looking at the empty wrapper that sat between the two of them. “Where’d it go?” 

Jackson dug a chocolate chunk out from a back molar with his tongue. “Inside you,” he said. “And funny enough, that’s where I wanna be, too.” 

“You’re so nasty,” she said, but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Aw, I’m sad. I was gonna make cookies. And you ate it all before I could.” 

He snorted. “ _ I _ ate it all?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, shoulders curving inward as she pouted.

“You did!” 

“Then explain…” she began, leaning across the counter. “The chocolate on your lip.” 

As she said it, she opened her mouth over his bottom lip and slowly sucked on it. She ran her tongue over the swell and licked the chocolate off, eyelashes fluttering while his hands found a home on her ribcage. 

“Mmm…” she said, pulling away. “Tastes like _ you _ ate them all.” 

“Don’t be a tease,” he said, eyes flashing.

“I’m your wife,” she responded. “I’m allowed to be whatever I want. And right now, I’m gonna be a chef. I’m making cookies, damn it.” 

“Kinda hard when you ate all the dough.” 

“When  _ you _ ate all the dough,” she quipped, dragging one finger down his chest. 

“You’re not just drunk, you’re delusional,” he said, and slapped her ass once more as she turned around. 

“I’m making them from scratch. Kepner family recipe. And hands off the goods, mister.” 

“What goods?” he asked playfully, sneaking behind her to grab two firm handfuls of her butt. “These goods?” 

“Jackson!” she shrieked, laughing with a carton of eggs and two sticks of butter in her arms. 

“What,” he said, watching as she lay the ingredients on the counter in a foray. He rested his chin in an open palm and looked at her dreamily, saying, “God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.” 

She blushed a brilliant red. “Stop it,” she said, lifting the electric mixer from a low cupboard.

“Married life is so good,” he continued, as if she’d never spoken. “Why are guys always talking like it sucks? Do they know you’re actually supposed to  _ like _ your partner?” 

“Well, I love mine,” she added. 

“I’m downright obsessed with mine,” he said, eyes still shining. “She’s making cookies from scratch, topless and drunk. What more could I ask for?”

“Being married to me is the best,” she said proudly, tipping her chin up. “I’m the best wife in the world.” 

“Heard it here first,” he said. 

“And you’re a good husband, too, baby,” she said, touching his nose with the pad of her pointer finger. 

He stood up straight and came over to join her. “Let me help,” he said, gaze cemented on her chest without moving. His hands came closer, but she swatted them away before they could touch her. 

“Good husband, bad assistant,” she said. “All you’re gonna do is feel me up.”

“And?” 

“And,” she said. “I wanna actually make these. You’re a distraction. You can watch me, that’s it.” 

He made a pouty sound, but retreated to the other side of the counter and sat on a stool. He watched her as she mixed the dry ingredients together and sifted them with the wet, perky breasts becoming dusted with flour as she worked. They turned the radio on, and as the fifth song played, April bent in half and slid the cookies into the oven. 

“I need a break,” she said, coming around the island toward the couch. “Come lay with me, babe.” 

He followed without protest, of course. She lay down on the couch first and he covered her completely, torso on torso, hips resting between her open thighs. 

“Am I squishing you?” he asked, lips moving against hers while their faces were less than centimeters apart. 

“Yes,” she answered, but stopped him when he tried to move. “No. I like it.” 

“You like being crushed?” 

She snickered, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. “I like being crushed by you.”

“You’re so cute,” he said, tipping his head to kiss the angle of her jaw. “Look at this face. Do you know how cute you are?”

Her face flushed while she laughed. “You get so sappy when you’re drunk,” she said. 

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he said.

“So, you admit it,” she said. “You’re sappy all the time, you just hide it.”

He shrugged and made a funny expression. 

“I brought out the soft side in you, Jackson Avery,” she whispered. “The sappy, cuddly-” 

“Hey, no one ever said I’m not cuddly,” he said, snuggling closer as if to prove his point. He wrapped his arms around her little waist and rested his head on her chest. “I’m the cuddliest.” 

“Lovey-dovey, Valentine’s Day obsessed, wife-obsessed…” she continued on. 

“What’s your point, April Avery?” he said. 

“Kepner-Avery,” she corrected, pointing a finger at him.

He bit the tip and said, “ _ Avery _ being the key word.” 

She rolled her eyes and pulled her finger away, then skimmed her hands over his closely-shaven head. “Grow your hair out,” she pouted. “I miss my curls.” 

“Oh,  _ your  _ curls,” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, they are mine,” she insisted. 

“You just like the way they feel between these thighs,” he said suggestively, gripping her legs for emphasis. 

“I’d argue if you were wrong,” she sang, throwing her head back to expose her long neck. “And I like something to grab onto when we’re…” 

“Fucking?” he finished, smirking. 

“You could say that,” she said. “You wanna know something I’ve always wondered?” 

He prompted her with his eyes. 

“What does it feel like?” she asked. “For you. Your penis inside me.” 

He laughed out loud, surprised at the question she chose to present. “I don’t know,” he said. “Fucking amazing.” 

“But like… like, what,” she pressed. “I know how it feels for me. I wanna know how it feels for you. Just tell me. Try and explain it. I’m curious, baby.”

She ran her fingernails over his shoulders and made goosebumps rise in their wake. He bent to kiss the middle of her sternum, and she moved her nails to his back instead. 

“Tight,” he said. “Wet. Hot.” He laughed again. “I don’t know, baby, I’m too drunk for this.” 

She laughed, too, giggling at first and then escalating to full-blown cackles. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his body higher, so his head rested right over her heartbeat. He pressed himself up onto his palms a moment later and matched her growing smile, then pressed his lips to hers in a slow, sloppy kiss that unsurprisingly turned into a makeout session.

She tasted sugary sweet, and he wasn’t much different. He explored every inch of her mouth with his tongue, the territory he’d already claimed and knew so well, and she reciprocated. Every now and then, they’d trade breathy giggles and deep sighs, but other than that the only sound in the room was that of their lips colliding and pulling apart.

But unfortunately, the alcohol made them groggy. Before either could touch below the waist, they fell asleep at approximately the same time - Jackson heavy on top of April’s body, her arms slung over the back of his neck. His face was tucked right under her jaw, breath against her throat, arms doubled up under the small of her back. 

They weren’t asleep for long before the smell of smoke woke them. 

“Oh, shit,” April said, smacking his back with open palms. “The cookies! Jackson, the cookies!” 

He rolled off her, eyes still bleary, and watched her little ass as she jogged towards the oven. Then, realizing the situation, he hurried to step in front of her as she moved to open the oven door. 

“Stop,” he said sternly. “You’re shirtless, you’re gonna burn yourself.” 

She moved away from the smoking oven as Jackson turned it off and lifted a scalding, ashen tray out. The cookies weren’t so much cookies as gray, hardened lumps. 

“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. 

“We can just-” he began, but was cut off by the sprinklers on their ceiling being set off and spritzing water all over the kitchen, all over them, and all over the cement-like cookies. 

“Oh, god!” April shouted, trying to use her arms as a shield to no avail. 

Everything was soaked, even when Jackson fanned the air near the sprinklers and got them to stop, it was too late. The two of them were dripping, along with everything in their proximity. 

They stood in silence, accepting their fate for a moment before reacting. 

“Well,” he said. 

“Yeah.” 

She glanced over, seeing that his white dress shirt was soaked through to the skin below. She wanted nothing more than to tear the fabric off and get him in bed; he looked so sexy, and she needed him so badly. 

“Clean this up later?” she asked, eyeing him some more. 

He returned the suggestive gaze and agreed, “Later,” before wrapping his arms around his wife and lowering her to the slippery kitchen floor. 


End file.
